The Race For Love Page 3

“When a person is as rich as you are,” someone had once said to him, “he views life through a glass window, which keeps him from coming into contact with reality. People talk to you in a different voice and with a different expression on their faces from the one they would use with ordinary folk.”

  That was true, Clint Wilbur had found and, as he grew older, he realised how two-faced people could be where he was concerned. It had not made him cynical or bitter, but merely cautious and perhaps at times over-suspicious.

  He thought when he received the Duke’s most effusive invitation to dine at Langstone Castle the night he arrived in the County that he had either a marriageable daughter or something to sell.

  It had not taken him long to discover that the Duke’s horses were a very saleable property and he was wondering as he was shown into the large and impressive drawing room whether a marriageable daughter would materialise.

  When he saw Hermione and heard the proud note in the Duke’s voice when he presented her, he knew exactly what was implied.

  Chapter Two

  Clint Wilbur arrived at the Racecourse to find, as he had anticipated, that Alita was already there.

  She was riding a different horse from those he had seen before, a grey that he thought seemed almost too small and elegant for the high jumps.

  But the grey took them in style and, as Alita drew level with him, he saw that she was smiling under the tattered jockey cap she wore as usual.

  “You are early!” she called out accusingly.

  “You did not expect me?”

  “I thought you would come later, since you were out last night.”

  Even as she spoke she thought perhaps that it was a mistake to admit that she knew he had dined at The Castle. After all it was not usual for those in the stables to know what went on in the reception rooms.

  Clint Wilbur did not appear to think it strange.

  He merely said,

  “I thought I would have another look at the horses before I inspect them officially this morning in the Duke’s presence.”

  “He is bringing you to the stables?” Alita asked.

  “At eleven-thirty,” Clint Wilbur answered. “I want to be sure of my ground before I start bargaining.”

  “Is that what you intend to do?”

  “People seldom ask for the sum they expect finally to receive,” he replied.

  Alita thought that her uncle would be disappointed, but she was silent and after a moment Clint Wilbur went on,

  “I admire the horse you are riding.”

  He saw a sudden expression of alarm in her eyes.

  Then she said quietly,

  “Flamingo is not for sale.”

  He sensed that there was a reason for the sharpness of her voice and so he asked,

  “Why not? I understood from the Duke that every horse in the stables was at my disposal.”

  “Flamingo belongs to me.”

  Clint Wilbur raised his eyebrows and said,

  “If you keep him in the Duke’s stables, I suppose that I shall see him this morning when I inspect the other horses.”

  “Not if I can help it!”

  Alita was talking in an abrupt manner that told him that she was disturbed.

  But he was curious and, because he wished to probe deeper, he commented,

  “You are making me suspicious. Am I being palmed off with inferior goods while someone else is having the pick of the bunch?”

  “No, no! It is nothing like that,” Alita said. “But Flamingo is mine. I have had him ever since he was a foal and he is different from all the other horses.”

  “In what way?”

  She looked at him searchingly and his blue eyes met hers with a query in them.

  After a moment she said,

  “If I show you what Flamingo can do, will you try to – understand?”

  “I will certainly try.”

  Alita hesitated, as if she was still undecided as to whether he was trustworthy or not.

  Then she said, almost as if she spoke to herself,

  “I have to – convince you.”

  As she spoke, she bent forward to pat Flamingo’s neck and then gave him an order.

  Clint Wilbur understood that she did not wish him to move and he kept his horse at a standstill as she rode round in a circle in front of him.

  Flamingo moved at an even pace and then at the word of command he trotted and reared up on his hind legs, walked for a few paces, then trotted again and repeated the performance.

  When he had completed the circle, Alita, humming softly, made him waltz. Round and round he went keeping in time to the music of her voice.

  Afterwards he reversed before she took him into the centre of the circle and once again he reared up on his hind legs pawing the air with his front ones.

  Then, going down on one knee with his other foreleg stuck out in front of him, he bowed his head three times to Clint Wilbur.

  When the performance was over, Alita looked at the American for the first time and rode Flamingo to his side.

  “Magnificent!” he exclaimed.

  “There are other tricks he can do,” Alita said, “but those are the ones which he is faultless at, however many times he repeats them.”

  “Flamingo has a very experienced teacher.”

  “I started when he was only a few months old,” Alita explained. “He will, of course, follow me everywhere and come when I call him even if he is several fields away. He will leap a five-bar gate to obey me.”

  “I am very impressed!” Clint Wilbur said.

  “I cannot part with him. He is all I have – the only one – in the world who – loves me.”

  There was an unmistakable throb in her voice, and after a moment, as Clint Wilbur did not speak, she said,

  “Please – don’t ask to see him when you come to The Castle this morning. I only brought him here today because he needed the exercise, and I thought that you would not arrive until later.”

  It was in fact only just after six o’clock and the trunks of the trees in the woods were still enveloped with the morning mist.

  “I did not mention last night to His Grace the fact that I had already seen some of the horses,” Clint Wilbur informed her.

  “I am glad about that.”

  “I had the feeling that you would not wish me to do so,” he went on, “and also I felt rather embarrassed in case His Grace should resent that I was trespassing on his property.”

  “And I don’t think that – the Duke would approve of my showing you his horses,” Alita said.

  She was in fact quite sure that her uncle and aunt would be furious if they thought that she was meeting any man surreptitiously and especially Clint Wilbur!

  She was surprised, however, that he was perceptive enough to realise that she would not wish the Duke to know that he had already seen and ridden several of his horses.

  She had in fact been apprehensive all the evening in case she should get into trouble for not reporting what had happened.

  As if he knew that she was relieved by his discretion, Clint Wilbur said,

  “It is very easy to make mistakes in England, where there is so much protocol. As my countrymen say, one has only to open one’s mouth to put one’s foot in it!”

  Alita laughed as he had meant her to do.

  “I think, however,” he said, “that because I have had a very Cosmopolitan education, you can trust me to be tactful.”

  “You have been to Europe before?”

  “Many times,” he answered, “but only for occasional and very short visits to England. That is why I am rather intrigued to now be an English landowner.”

  “Marshfield House is magnificent.”

  “You know it well?” he asked.

  “I have been to the stables since its owner died,” she answered. “They are not as light and airy as ours, but, if you would spend money on them, there are a great many improvements that would be well worth making.”

  “I see I shall have
to ask you to advise me.”

  She glanced at him quickly and he thought that she imagined he was being sarcastic.

  “That is an invitation,” he said. “I can see that you are very knowledgeable about horses and the way they need to be housed in this country is different from the way they are allowed to run almost wild in Texas.”

  “I would love to know how they are trained there,” Alita said. “I have read everything I can about the methods used in different countries, but most books, even if I can get hold of them, are seldom very informative.”

  “I will see if I can find you one,” Clint Wilbur suggested. “Do you read a lot?”

  “All the time,” Alita said. “It is the only way I can – ”

  She stopped suddenly.

  She had been about to say, ‘ – keep in touch with the world outside The Castle’, but she knew that it would be indiscreet of her.

  She thought that he was about to question what she had been going to say and so she was glad that at that moment they joined the other horses waiting with the stable boys.

  “I would like to race you,” Clint Wilbur said. “May I choose my own mount so that you don’t steal a march on me?”

  “I have a feeling that you are accusing me of being unsporting,” Alita replied, “but, of course, the choice is yours.”

  She liked the way he inspected each horse, looking for the good points that she knew so well, and she was certain that he missed none of the flaws.

  Finally he said,

  “I will ride Rajah.”

  The stable boy, on Alita’s instructions, transferred the saddle from his own horse.

  “What is your choice?” Clint Wilbur asked. “And may I say that I still think I am somewhat handicapped.”

  “I doubt it,” she replied. “And I think it would be appropriate if I rode Wild West. He is one of the youngest horses in the stables, but one I have great hopes for.”

  Wild West already carried a side-saddle and Alita tightened the girth a little before, without any help, she sprang into the saddle with a lightness that made it appear almost as if she flew through the air.

  “Twice round the course,” she said, “is about the same distance as the Cheltenham Hunt Plate.”

  “Twice around it shall be!” he said. “How shall we start?”

  She felt that he was deliberately and with a slight air of condescension letting her arrange the race, as if he was sure that because he was a man he would beat her, but was prepared to give her a chance.

  She pulled her jockey cap a little farther down over her forehead and, turning to the stable boys, she said,

  “Ned, count slowly up to three, then shout out, ‘Go!’ Do you understand?”

  “Aye, Miss Alita. I understands.”

  “Very well” Alita said. “Start now and count slowly.”

  The boy counted out,

  “One – two – three – go!”

  Alita moved off a little faster than did Clint Wilbur and she was just ahead of him as they reached the first jump.

  Wild West took it superbly with a foot to spare and Rajah, guided by the American’s skilful hands, spread himself out faultlessly.

  Then they started down the ride at a speed that made Alita feel as if the crisp air almost cut her cheeks.

  She was determined to win and she knew too that she had an advantage in that she was lighter than the American, but she had to admit that he rode superbly.

  The horses were more or less evenly matched except that Wild West would have run himself out at the very beginning of the race had not Alita been able to keep him under control.

  He almost pulled her arms out of their sockets before she finally made him settle down.

  After they had gone round the course once she knew exactly the place where she would give Wild West his head and finish, she hoped, in front of Clint Wilbur.

  But she saw, as she took the last fence, that he was half a length ahead of her and she acknowledged that it was his superb horsemanship that made Rajah move faster than he had ever moved before.

  Wild West, with Alita’s urging, made a sudden sprint at the very last moment, but Clint Wilbur was undoubtedly a neck ahead as they passed the cheering stable boys.

  Riding into the centre of the course, they drew their horses slowly to a standstill.

  “You won!” Alita called breathlessly when finally she could speak.

  “It was one of the best races I have ever ridden!” Clint Wilbur said. “Thank you, Miss Blair. I have not enjoyed anything so much for many years!”

  “It was exciting!” Alita agreed. “I have never ridden a genuine race on this course before, although sometimes Sam and I ride the horses together to get them used to having competition.”

  “Who is Sam?” he enquired.

  “His Grace’s Head Groom. You will meet him this morning. He is wonderful with horses.”

  “As you are.”

  “I am so lucky to have the opportunity.”

  “Then what will happen if I take them all away from you?”

  “We will still have the mares and quite a number of foals,” Alita replied.

  She explained how the late Duke had spent a great deal of money in breeding thoroughbreds and how she hoped that some of the money for the horses that were sold would go into buying new stock.

  “Will you mind losing those you have trained so well?” Clint Wilbur asked.

  “It is always like losing a very close friend,” Alita said simply, “but I will still have – Flamingo.”

  She glanced at him as she spoke and he thought that she was still apprehensive that he might demand Flamingo with the others.

  “If you say he is your horse,” Clint Wilbur said after a moment, “how could the Duke sell him without your permission?”

  Alita drew in a deep breath as she quickly tried to think of an answer.

  “His Grace has been kind enough,” she said at length, “to let me keep Flamingo in his stables, but I think if it was a question of a good offer from a valued client, he would not expect me to refuse to sell.”

  It sounded rather a weak explanation, but she thought that Clint Wilbur accepted it.

  He said nothing and when he had dismounted he remarked,

  “I intend to go home now. There are certain people I have to see before I come to The Castle to see the Duke.”

  The stable boys were transferring the saddle from Rajah’s back onto his own horse and Alita, lowering her voice so that they could not hear what she said, pleaded,

  “You will not forget that you have never seen me before?”

  “I have a retentive memory,” Clint Wilbur replied. “But, as I hope to meet you here again and certainly to challenge you to another race, I can assure you that my lips are sealed.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile.

  Then, without waiting for him to leave, she mounted one of the waiting horses and rode off round the course.

  *

  When Alita arrived back at The Castle to change from her riding habit into an ugly brown dress that came first to hand when she opened her wardrobe, she thought, that the race she had run against Clint Wilbur was one of the most exciting things she had ever done.

  She was so used to spending most of her days working in the stables and talking only to Sam that the mere fact that she could discuss horses with anyone as knowledgeable as Clint Wilbur was something that she had never expected to happen to her.

  She had often longed not to meet the usual guests who came to the Castle – her isolation from them did not trouble her at all – but to talk to the Duke’s more intelligent visitors and especially to those who came from overseas.

  The books she had read, and fortunately the library was a very comprehensive one, if slightly out-of-date, made her feel that in her imagination she had travelled to many places.

  She knew the habits and customs of peoples whom she was well aware she would never in her life have the chance of seeing or meeting.


  America had fascinated her because the recent development of so large a continent was such a contrast to the traditions of the Old World.

  She liked the idea of a country where men thought that they were not only free but also equal and she thought that the easy manner in which Clint Wilbur spoke to her was very different from the way that would have been adopted by any of Hermione’s admirers.

  Thinking her to be nothing but a stable girl, they would, of course, be polite, but undoubtedly condescending, talking down to her and certainly not on equal terms.

  ‘Mr. Wilbur is charming,’ Alita told herself, ‘and also intelligent. Hermione will be lucky if he marries her.’

  She could not help thinking with a touch of amusement that if there was any condescending to be done, it would be on Hermione’s part.

  The Duchess had made it quite clear that she did not think that the Americans were on a Social par with the English aristocracy.

  But money would undoubtedly cover a great number of deficiencies in a Family Tree and Alita knew that the Duke would welcome Clint Wilbur as a son-in-law with open arms.

  It seemed absurd that, living in a huge Castle, owning thousands of acres of land and having a social position that was unequalled, the Duke should find it extremely hard to make ends meet.

  But it was the truth and only Alita knew of the cheese-paring that went on in The Castle, the low wages the servants were paid and the continual nagging over the housekeeping bills.

  Even Hermione had to go without a great number of things she desired and her gowns were made over, refurbished and re-trimmed a dozen times before they were finally discarded in favour of Alita.

  This was a doubtful pleasure because Hermione, although the same height as Alita, was considerably larger in build.

  Alita was slim and the amount of exercise she took made it impossible for her to have an ounce of superfluous flesh on her body.

  While naked she had the figure of a young Goddess and, when she was dressed in Hermione’s discarded clothes, which had been clumsily altered by the village seamstress, she looked lumpy and a mess.

  What was more, because the Duchess was parsimonious and did not like her niece, she insisted before handing them over that Hermione’s gowns should first have removed the trimmings and any decoration that might be used again.